


Gezelligheid

by drinkbloodlikewine, whiskeyandspite



Series: Paracosm Timestamps [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Edging, Established Relationship, Fucking, M/M, Multi, Oral, Restraints, Rough Sex, Teasing, Threesome, Timestamp, established triad, instructions, messy sex, paracosm verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 21:12:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4407881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkbloodlikewine/pseuds/drinkbloodlikewine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I already know how to fuck your husband,” laughs Anthony.</i>
</p><p>  <i>Will snorts, gently presses his thighs together just to feel the resistance of them being held open, bites his lip when Hannibal gives him a look and Will gives him one back. Though tethered, he is in no way submissive, not here, not now. He is thoroughly in his element; displayed and beautiful.</i></p><p>  <i>“You know how to fuck him, but you will appreciate the lessons on how to satisfy him,” Hannibal says after a moment. “And I would certainly appreciate watching you learn.”</i></p><p>Following on from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4159251">Paracosm</a>, and part of that verse, but can be read standalone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gezelligheid

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by our amazing [noodletheelephant](http://noodletheelephant.tumblr.com/)!!

“Is your husband always so cruel?”

“Always,” Will sighs, a laugh uplifting his voice as he tilts his chin towards the ceiling. He stretches his fingers, the sleek tendons of his wrist pulling taut against the soft silk scarves that hold his arms spread. There is no strain in his position, arms bound, and legs held wide by Anthony kneeling between them, but he is bare, exposed, with little more to be done than blush about it.

“Though generations of students would protest, there is no cruelty in education,” Hannibal says, and Anthony barks a laugh.

“I, too, would protest. You never had to serve under Dr. Fell.”

“I am not him,” Hannibal reminds the poet, lips twitching upward. “And it is a far different lesson that I teach now than any, I imagine, he ever covered.”

Anthony grins cooked at the doctor, and turns back to Will beneath. He keeps his hands on Will’s knees, thumbs stroking tickling across the soft skin inside. “No,” he agrees. “Dr. Fell never offered tutoring in how to fuck his husband.”

“And you call me cruel,” Hannibal reminds him.

“I already know how to fuck your husband,” laughs Anthony.

Will snorts, gently presses his thighs together just to feel the resistance of them being held open, bites his lip when Hannibal gives him a look and Will gives him one back. Though tethered, he is in no way submissive, not here, not now. He is thoroughly in his element; displayed and beautiful.

“You know how to fuck him, but you will appreciate the lessons on how to satisfy him,” Hannibal says after a moment. “And I would certainly appreciate watching you learn.”

Anthony’s smile widens enough to silence his disingenuous protests, and he turns back towards Will with a lifted brow. Will returns the look, parting his lips with his tongue. Spreading his hands across Will’s thighs, Anthony lowers himself down over Will, lips parted for a kiss. He places one hand to the bed beside Will, folding the other between them to lay heavy and -

“Stop,” Hannibal says. Anthony blinks, holding himself as he is, and sets his lifted hand to the bed as well, perched on all fours over Will without yet kissing, touching, rubbing together.

“I’ve a feeling this may be the first test I’ve ever failed.”

“Before you let him feel your body,” continues Hannibal, “let him imagine it. You’ll discover, if you’ve not already, that my husband’s mind is a playground for others who know how to seek past his occasionally crude exterior. He is creative, clever, and above all else, empathic. Do not give him so immediately the simple satisfaction of your weight. Let him consider it, and anticipate.”

Will’s eyes narrow, fingers curling slowly against the scarves holding him pinned. His cheeks flush darker, there is a tremor that runs through his entire body before he turns his eyes to Anthony above him again, so close, so familiar. Will knows how heavy he is when he lays against him, he knows how warm, how hard he is. Will’s fingertips tingle with the anticipation of touching Anthony again, with the memories of having done so.

He wants.

And Anthony watches. The way Will’s pupils widen, his eyes darken and slowly hood, the way his breathing picks up, if incrementally. He is beautiful. Anthony feels his heart hammer with want for him, with fondness.

He slips one hand back to stroke over the insides of Will’s thighs, enough that Will spreads further on his own, enough that he presses his toes to the mattress and lifts his heel, defining the pale calf and hamstring. He breathes out, ragged, and lifts his chin again, seeking.

“You see?” comes the warm murmur from the chair beside the bed, a rolling accent pulled into a purr. “He unfurls for you, as a blossom might for a bee.”

“Seeking pollination,” Anthony whispers, grinning when Will draws a breath, lips parting wider.

But Anthony has always been a good student, intuitive and talented at most everything he’s ever bothered to touch, be it Medieval Poetry or an orgy. He does not kiss Will, not yet, leaning close enough that his breath can be felt across the older man’s ready mouth, over his jaw and past his ear. Will pushes against the bed, feet bending and hips lifting, shivering out a moan as Anthony brushes breath across his throat and chest, so close that there is nearly static between them, lips barely touching.

And so when he decides to close them, latching onto a stiff, dark nipple, the sound that breaks forth is like thunder, a rolling moan held long. Anthony lifts his eyes and watches the shivering of muscles as Will tugs against his restraints, the pleasure open and eager across his face. Beneath his tongue, Will’s wide, flat nipple pebbles small and stiff, entirely too perfect for Anthony to draw it between his teeth, and suck.

Will’s arms jerk in the restraints, fists tight against them as he pants, head back and eyes closed. The arch of his neck trembles as he swallows, flushes pink with pleasure as Anthony tugs his nipple with his teeth enough to feel, enough to draw a plaintive sound from Will as he shivers, turns his head into his own arm and moans softly into it.

His body is covered in goosebumps, his muscles pull tense, as Will draws his legs up and folds one over Anthony’s broad back. When he opens his eyes, they look at Hannibal, wide and bright, and then they narrow in amusement, in feline pleasure. They roll closed, for just a moment, when Anthony moves from one nipple to the other, and then Will watches, again, watches his husband watch another man take Will apart. He has always been so turned on by watching, even before they had started having sex.

Will feels his entire body spark with pleasure, filtering Hannibal’s arousal, his own, Anthony’s through him like a conduit. It is pleasantly overwhelming. 

Like water rising, only ankle high at first but climbing cool over bare skin. Will knows, between the two of them who have tied him down, the tide will reach his groin, his belly, up to his throat and higher until he is breathless. He knows, and he squirms upward as if to flee from the chill waters and hot mouth that he knows will not cease until he is submerged.

“Please,” Will begs, a sweet little lilt that draws both men’s eyes to him. He curls his spine convex from the bed, but only when he pushes upward so hard that he’s trembling, does Anthony let the lengths of their bodies brush. Their cocks bump stiff together, an unsteady noise from Anthony humming past thinned lips as he swallows. It’s too hard to hold the position though, and Will lowers back down with a whine, flushed and narrow-eyed.

“You are an apt pupil, dear Mr. Dimmond,” Hannibal notes. He pays no regard to the bulge tenting his own trousers, leaning nearer as if overseeing a medical procedure rather than the thorough undoing of his husband by another man. “Now that we know Will’s capability to imagine, far exceeding even our own, we will maintain that theme -”

“We?”

“You,” Hannibal responds, mildly, accepting the correction with cool amusement. “My husband is a generous man, kind and giving, with a depth of compassion the likes of which I have never seen. He is also defensive, and self-interested at times,” Hannibal muses. “And especially when it comes to this. Put your fingers in his mouth.”

Anthony laughs, a breathless thing, his own cock hard between his legs as he turns from Hannibal and looks at Will again, flushed and trembling beneath him.

“I don’t think I’m allowed to kiss you yet,” he tells him, finds Will’s narrow-eyed displeasure just as pleasing as Hannibal does. “Not your lips,” Anthony clarifies, and watches Will’s pupils fill darker, wider than before. “But perhaps I can earn the right to kiss elsewhere, if you’re good, and I’m good -”

He laughs again, brings one hand to Will’s lips and drags the bottom one down with his thumb before pressing two fingers gently into Will’s eager mouth. His own lips part in sympathy to the motion, he hears Hannibal’s click lightly as they do as well. Will has them both in thrall, restrained and flushed and presented as he is. Anthony wonders if Hannibal will keep him so tethered all day, if they will take turns on him until Will is a mess, and murderous about it.

He hopes so.

Perhaps, if they’re good.

“Has he always had an oral fixation?” the poet asks, pressing his fingers deeper into Will’s mouth, smiling when Will obediently curls his tongue around them, between them, draws his teeth over the soft pads of them. “His mouth is exceptional.”

“Among other things,” Hannibal agrees, though as to which remark - or perhaps to both - he doesn’t further clarify. He leans forward, elbow set to a knee, and without pretense, slips his other hand between his legs to palm at his stiff cock. It is unhurried, hand spread flat as he pushes down his shaft, fingers curling on the upward stroke.

“There was a time,” he continues, “wherein the only physical intimacy we shared involved his mouth. Beyond kissing, I was dissuaded, shall we say, from pursuing other avenues of sensuality that might be open to me. A clever mouth can convince someone of most anything,” he muses, “especially when the bearer of it has one pinned by the hips, and a suction around their erection so tight that one sees stars.”

“Fuck,” sighs Anthony. He rubs the tips of his fingers against Will’s tongue, delighting with a broad grin as Will’s tongue presses back, harder. He makes as though to snare it but misses, the slick muscle curling around him as Will’s cheeks suddenly hollow. The pressure pulls right from Anthony’s groin, tingling up the length of his body, back to his fingers and he groans, fingers curling in the sheets where he remains bent over Will. He rocks his hips forward, uncaring when his cock twitches and sinks with each pulse of suction around his fingers, eyes hooding.

“You see?” Hannibal tells him, fabric rustling softly, trapped between thumb and cock. “I was helpless.”

“I’m going to fucking come,” Anthony murmurs, laughing weakly as he slides his fingers free of Will’s lips - grudging, very grudging, but pleased deeply by the sheen of spit across the older man’s reddened lips, the thin thread that briefly joins them before snapping to Will’s chin.

“You’re going to use your hand on him,” Hannibal instructs. “Not yourself. Not yet. Sit back so that you can see him spread wide, the puckered ring no doubt already hot to the touch and trembling for you. Gently push aside his balls, and circle him. Slowly, only enough pressure that you can feel the muscle gather inward.”

“Fuck.” Will licks his bottom lip into his mouth and swallows thickly, directing his eyes to Hannibal with a glare and a grin both. He moves his legs as Anthony sits back and spreads him wider, he parts his lips on a sigh and moans softly before turning his head forward again, to look at the poet between his legs.

“You’re going to undo me,” he tells him, smiling, setting his toes to the mattress again as before, both feet, now, to unfurl as Hannibal had wanted him to. He is tense and hard, needy and aching already. He wants to fuck. He wants to be fucked. And he knows, that when Hannibal gets into moods like this, it could be hours before he’s even touched properly, beyond a breath or a nuzzle or a tickling drag of nails.

“Before you even fuck me. And you will, I love how you fuck. Hard and deep and relentless.” Will drags the sibilant and rests his foot against Anthony’s side, drawing it up as his fingers whiten against the silk. “I want you to.”

“You are beautifully manipulative,” Anthony tells him, slipping a hand down his leg to grasp just beneath Will’s ankle and stroke the skin there. “But I have to say I love watching you grow so horny you start bargaining.”

“That’s how it works, isn’t it? We both have something the other wants,” Will reasons. His breath pitches into a high, soft sound, almost pouting, as Anthony teases pressure against wrinkled skin. Just enough to make his thighs tighten in readiness, enough to pulls his hands into fists of anticipation.

“You want me to fuck you.”

“You want to fuck me.”

“I want to bend you over, and push my hand against the back of your neck to keep you from squirming, and drive you into the goddamn mattress with my cock,” Anthony purrs, breaching with just the tip of his finger. Hannibal draws a sudden breath as Will moans at the words, writhing harder now against his constraints. “Just like I did this morning. You’re still loose from it.”

“I’m not,” Will hisses, “loose.”

“Should I have the doctor come look and confirm?”

Will’s cheeks burn scarlet, not only the flush of breathless arousal but now in squeamish embarrassment. The darkness in his eyes, the curl of tension would be convincing - enough to make Anthony apologize for teasing him - but for the hint of a smile at war in the corner of his lips.

“My lesson to share with you,” Anthony stage-whispers to Hannibal. “If you’ve not tried talking dirty to him - telling him what a sordid little slut he can be, no offense intended - he’s like a cat in heat for it.”

“Fuck you -”

Anthony rubs against Will’s hole a little harder, sitting forward enough that his thighs lift Will’s feet from the bed, spreading him wider.

“Earn it,” Hannibal tells him gently, and with a smile, looks at Anthony again. “He has always been undone by words. Another aspect of his oral fixation, I suppose. Words and tongues and lips and all that they can do.”

“Hannibal -” Will writhes, laughing breathlessly as Anthony leans a little closer still, lifting his hips a little more from the bed with the bend of them together. Hannibal doesn’t even turn to look at his husband, contented to watch their poet slowly tease him with his fingers. 

“Press in,” Hannibal suggests gently. “Just one, for now, and slowly. Watch him respond to every motion when he has no choice but to take what is given.” He smiles a little wider as Will curses, moans and shivers against his restraints as Anthony slips the tip of his finger into Will’s hole and gently circles it.

“And please, continue your lesson in tandem with my own.”

Anthony’s grin twists crooked, rakish and as charming as he is entirely charmed by his hosts. He lets his eyes follow the movement of muscle beneath Hannibal’s sleeve. He is aware innately and near idolatrous of the man’s strength, and he watches for a moment the movement of Hannibal’s hand against his tight trousers before turning back to Will for a smile.

His lips part in a low sound as Will’s body parts in kind. Widening with a whimper, Will tries to rock himself downward against the digit that slips slick past his opening. Anthony watches, fascinated, at the way Will’s body accepts his own, finger disappearing in achingly slow pushes and tugs inside of him. He has not often been able to look at Will like this, spread so wide that every movement can be watched.

“Is it enough?” he wonders, and Will’s lips curl over his teeth as if in warning. “No, of course it isn’t. Two fingers wouldn’t be enough. Three. I could fit them all in and stretch them and you’d still be begging for it, wouldn’t you? Thrusting your hips up at me, rubbing your leaky cock, whining like you’ve never been fucked before.”

He turns his fingers, twisting down to the knuckle and then just as quickly, brings it back out again to watch the skin stretch as if trying to hold his finger in place.

“Tart,” he murmurs. “Beautiful slut, with a ready mouth and loose arse. You’re only ever satisfied when we’re plugging you from both ends, aren’t you? And even then you want more cock in you.”

“Stop,” Will pleads, shaking against the hand that penetrates him, against the air that gives him absolutely no friction when he arches up to seek more. He is flushed and covered in a thin sheen of sweat already, needy and hungry and horny for all of this. He knows that just as Hannibal can undo him with merely a word, merely a touch, so Anthony can with his filth. He understands that dirty part of Will’s mind that so rarely gets to be stimulated.

"You love being used don't you? Passed from one cock to the next," Anthony murmurs, rubbing his thumb against the underside of Will’s balls, drawn up tight already as he moans, as he turns to watch Hannibal helplessly as the words continue to pour over him, as Anthony spreads him with one finger, and at Hannibal’s calm allowance adds another. 

It is torment, the most sweet torment. Will’s stomach is slick with precome already, his limbs quaking where they are held up and spread, where they are tied to the bed and holding him down for the pleasure of the two men he loves so much.

“Please stop -” Will bites his lip and releases it. “I need to come -”

“Don’t we all,” answers Hannibal. With a flicker of cruelty that pulls his eyes narrower, he sits back in his chair once more, and lets his legs spread. Will shivers at the sound of Hannibal unzipping himself, cock pushing free against the sleek black briefs he wears beneath. Hannibal strokes himself languid over the fabric as Will turns a beseeching gaze to him once more, and the moment bright blue eyes drift lower, Hannibal tucks the elastic of his briefs down beneath his balls, and takes his cock properly in hand.

Anthony, too, watches the display of masculine pride and ownership, as Hannibal strokes his own ego as much as his thick length, deliciously full and throbbing. He shudders, as much in the sway of Hannibal as Will himself, moreso perhaps, and entirely by choice. He presses his tongue between his lips, drawing a breath to question -

“Slowly,” Hannibal says, and Anthony laughs helpless at the reprieve given to him.

He spits softly into his hand and curls it around himself, a few quick tugs to slick it, once more to pull his foreskin forward, and then slip it back past the swell of his cockhead. When he aligns himself, it is only that, a blunt pressure against Will’s ready hole.

“God,” gasps Will, pulling himself higher on the bed and using that leverage to push himself back down. He cannot force Anthony’s cock, much as he tries, lips snarled in frustration as Anthony strokes the tip of his length against Will’s wrinkled skin. The poet teases, always a tease in words and body and being, until he himself can stand it no more and begins to ease himself inward. A slow spread, the beautiful body beneath his own trembling, filling Will in increments and watching as his cock is taken into Will, who all but pulls him inward with the flexing of muscles that pull his stomach taut.

“What if we left you here?” Anthony asks. “All day, well into the night. Filling you with sticky semen again and again, taking turns using you, insisting that you keep it all inside. Load after load, until you’re filthy with it.”

Will keens, flushed and shameless now, in his want for this, for everything they promise. Yes, he wants to be used. Yes, he wants to be left here helpless and horny and bound and rabid by the end of it. Yes, he wants a good deep fucking and he wants it right the fuck now.

“Where did you develop a mouth like that?” Will asks, teasing, panting, trembling as Anthony pushes in deeper, settles fully into Will and then just as slowly pulls back out. Will’s whine lasts the entire length of the thrust back in again. “Who bent and taught and played with you?”

“A great many people,” Anthony laughs, leaning low over Will again, continuing the lazy thrusting before turning his head to Hannibal as Will does, and grinning. “Your husband was one of them. Teaching me the intricacies of experience. Taking my sight and my words from me, my hands and my balance. Tongue so deep in my ass I wept from it.” The poet moans, turns his head to look at Will again, leans in to whisper loudly. “Apparently you and I have that in common. Perhaps I should have licked you out first? Spread your shaking thighs and buried my face between your cheeks until you howled for it?”

“Perhaps you still might,” Hannibal tells him, stroking himself a little faster, as Will struggles against his restraints, dripping copiously against his stomach, breaths panting in and out of his lungs, again and again, near hysterical with need for more than what he’s getting.

“Perhaps you will,” Will offers weakly, laughing when he’s pressed slowly into the mattress again. “You get such a fucking kick from eating me out.”

“Blame your husband,” Anthony murmurs, leaning low enough that his whisper brushes against Will’s ear. “You taste far too good for me to possibly resist. And smeared with my come -”

Will bucks upward, teeth gritted, a glitter of tears against his long lashes from frustration, from want, from absolute pleasure at being tormented with words and bodies both.

“Perhaps I will indeed,” sighs the poet. He turns a look to Hannibal, eyes narrowing and smile curving higher when he sees how vigorously he strokes himself. Fisting his cock with a metronomic precision, head tilted back just so and eyes hooded - he is just as beautiful as Will.

Just as beautiful as both of them.

All three, tangled together, even with space between them.

“Now,” Hannibal whispers, his voice rough. “Overwhelm him.”

Will has time just to widen his eyes, just to part his lips before he is kissed so deeply he cannot breathe, and Anthony thrusts hard enough against him to pull a groan from deep in Will’s throat.

His body explodes in pleasure, heat and sharpness, quick thrusts and a turn to stroke against his prostate. Again and again until Will is nearly sobbing with it, fingers splaying where he’s held restrained, no longer holding the scarves, no longer helping them trap him. Will ducks his head and takes every kiss Anthony feeds him, trembles when he pushes in slowly and deep, enough for Will to feel every inch of him.

He wants him.

He aches for them.

He wants Hannibal just as much.

“Harder,” Will moans, laughing when Anthony bends and calls him a slut again. “ _Harder_.”

With little more than a thin coat of spit across his cock, it hurts Will. It must hurt him. Anthony is hurting him and bringing him to such heights of ecstasy all at once that Will is laughing and tears are blinking from the corners of his eyes and Anthony laughs, too, elated at the permissions given in words and body, shared with him as if he belonged there.

He does. He knows he does.

Anthony crushes their mouths together, closed-lipped but so tight that their breath is nothing more than rasping gasps against the other’s cheek. He lays heavy against the smaller man, lean but tall. Every thrust, curled down his spine to round his hips, digs down to the hilt until Will’s whimpers escape his throat despite the muffling of Anthony’s smothering kiss against him. He splits him in two, or so it feels, the bed quaking beneath them, headboard banging into the wall. He lifts a shaking hand to rest against Will’s throat, and feel the older man’s pulse humming beneath his fingers.

He turns his head aside, breathless from kissing Will, rosy-cheeks kissed by Will even as Anthony looks to Hannibal. His throat clicks in a swallow, seeing in the doctor austerity at war with base animal pleasure, jaw set and lips parted as he fists his cock. Anthony is weak, already, trembling from the teasing that tormented him as much as Will, and he whispers low, taunting, to Hannibal:

“I wish you were fucking him, too.”

Hannibal makes a sound like a low growl, dangerous and predatory, a sensation of a sound more than a sound itself. Anthony’s entire body goes lax at it, slipping over Will before he nuzzles Will’s head aside so he can look at his husband as Anthony fucks him.

“Both of us in you, you’d love that wouldn’t you? Stretching you gaping open,” he whispers, and Will moans, toes curling and wrists twisting hard in the scarves that hold him, one Hannibal’s, one Anthony’s, bound even this way. Always. “You’d think we don’t ever fuck you, the way you starve for it.”

Will keens, the sound plaintive and just that pitch, just that sound, that has Hannibal circling his own cock hard so he doesn’t come, not yet, watching his husband writhe under a volley of dirty words and hard thrusts. He imagines climbing into bed with the two of them, bending Will and manipulating to take them both, lying beneath him and pinching his nipples as he felt both him and Anthony above him come apart.

Perhaps he would.

“Would you like me to?” he purrs.

Anthony’s breath catches, stuck in his throat as he looks between Will and Hannibal, from Hannibal back to Will. There is a moment of deference, a slip in his crude words and cruel domination. There is respect, there, and awareness, in the beat that passes between them - a genuine affection that nullifies any truly rough treatment that could be visited on him.

It lasts just that beat, though, before Will licks his lower lip between his teeth and nods, arching upward.

Anthony laughs, holding Will’s chin in his hand and kissing him until he’s grinning so wide he can’t keep their lips together. Softer, then, quicker things as he relents in his brutal fucking, slowing and withdrawing, inch by inch.

“Don’t stop -”

“Hush,” Anthony whispers to him. He twists a hand around Will’s cock and squeezes a thread of precome from it, fingers fanning to glisten in the pearlescent strand that he brings to his lips without reservation. A coy glint catches the corners of his eyes as he shifts aside to make room for Hannibal, tongue twining between his fingers.

The doctor wastes little time on undressing, uncaring that he is only of them still clothed. He pulls Anthony’s fingers into his own mouth to suck, leaning in to kiss the poet after. When he bends to kiss his husband, Will surges into it, struggling against the bonds until Hannibal sets his hand against Will’s and twines their fingers and soothes him.

"Hips up," he whispers, and when Will obeys, he settles into bed beside him, and carefully works his own hips beneath. He is careful to not bend Will in a way that will hurt him, to not tease him too cruelly with his cock hard against the slick cleft of Will’s ass. He watches Anthony crawl over them both for the lubricant and reaches down to spread Will’s legs wide for him, catching him under the knees to hold Will entirely open as Anthony slicks his cock, as he bends, kissing against Will’s thighs, to slick Hannibal's. 

"My beautiful Will, do you know how tempting you are?" Hannibal whispers to him, sliding his hand down Will’s leg to line himself up and slowly arch up and push in. Will squirms, hair messy and wet against Hannibal’s shirt, lips seeking back for a kiss and feeling one pressed to his fevered temple. "My beloved, my own."

While there is no doubt that Will enjoys sex with Anthony, there is always a particular moment when Will and Hannibal join that resonates in the poet. No more than a shortened breath, no more than a moment when their gazes hold - it is as though the entire world is paused for that instant, as if it falls away and there is nothing left but them. It is a shared disbelief and a wonder, as their bodies become one again, that the other is there at all.

Anthony does not pretend to know from what well that moment is drawn, but he knows that every time he sees it, he thanks his stars that he’s so lucky.

Gathering his breath again, Anthony accepts Will’s arch to lay low against them again. They share a kiss, and with his eyes drawn up in delight, Anthony sucks Will’s bottom lip between his own as he starts to press into him. The gasps, the pained whimpers, they breeze across his teeth as he bares them in a grin. Hannibal holds steady, his arms snared around Will’s waist, fingers teasing a stiffened nipple, and one or all groan as Anthony breaches Will’s stretched hole, pulling it wider still, squeezing his cock against Hannibal’s own.

He releases Will’s mouth to hear him moan, to revel beneath his fluttering kisses like a flower turning towards the sun. A warm nuzzle is shared between them, joining sweat from their exertions, and then Anthony leans to twist into a kiss with Hannibal, too. Grinning bright, as if involved in a secret that only they three share, Anthony parts the kiss with a sigh, and as his balls sit heavy against Hannibal’s own, as the coarse curls of his pubic hair tickle Will’s opening, he whispers into Will’s ear:

“I’m still going to eat you out afterward, you know.”

Will snorts, a helpless sound that tenses his entire body before he bites his lip, turns his wrists a little in the restraints still holding him.

"And you call me filthy," he purrs, turning his head for Anthony to suck under his jaw, for Hannibal to kiss the corner of his mouth. In play, it is usually Anthony who takes them both, it is rare that Will does, and his body strains in the most exquisite way when Hannibal lowers his hips and slowly pulls out, and Anthony holds, with a moan, within him.

It's slow, close, all of them panting, pressing open mouths to flushed sweaty skin, toying with Will between them. Hannibal squeezes a nipple, gently twists it, and Will keens so beautifully the poet above him trembles for it.

"Christ, are you ever anything but?" he whispers.

Anthony’s hips twitch, muscles quivering down to long legs, thighs tight as Hannibal slides in again, slow enough for Will’s voice to give into little more than a gasp, slow enough for Anthony to feel every inch of Hannibal’s cock press against his own. He holds them both in thrall like this, giving commands without words now, both poet and erstwhile investigator helpless to his commands. As if on cue, both men pull back out of Will, and push back in again, a cruel stretch that aches a sob from Will as the tension in him builds and his cock beads thick slick onto his belly.

“I -” Anthony laughs, arms shaking with the effort to hold himself up, to keep himself at bay. “I think I might -”

He doesn’t finish his words before Hannibal thrusts in hard enough that Anthony drops his head with a groan, meeting Hannibal’s harsh movements with his own, however unsteady. They piston in turns inside Will, their Will, who can do little more than let tearful pleasure slip from the corners of his eyes with every blink. Always full, never empty, one after the next after the next in relentless rhythm until Anthony breaks first. His hands fist the sheets, he moans open-mouthed against Will’s lips, hot spurting pulses filling Will, coating Hannibal, who with a low hum follows him over the edge.

Will is sweat slick and sobbing, body flushed and full and dripping. His hands curl harder in the restraints and he moans when Hannibal's fingers gently curl around one wrist and then the other, but do not yet free him.

"Have you had enough?" he sighs, and Will laughs, helpless to it.

"Yes."

"Have you learned?" Hannibal asks, turning dark amused eyes to Anthony, who laughs much the same, and grins with a nod.

"I feel thoroughly educated."

Both men lie heavy, panting above Hannibal, and he slowly works his fingers through the deft knots holding his husband bound. Will shudders, brings his hands to his chest to warm them and immediately goes to touch his cock. When Anthony bends to kiss him, Hannibal hums gently and curls his fingers in the poet's messy hair to bring him lower for a kiss too. 

"Let him," he whispers. "Watch."

Anthony twists into another soft kiss, intensely adoring for how gentle it is, for how irreverent the poet is in every other way. His lips brush Hannibal’s again, and again, and once more before he leans back with hooded eyes and sits on his knees. His cock slips from inside Will, covered in sticky semen, and as a bead of it trickles free from Will’s stretched hole, the older man moans low in his chest and squeezes his cock tight.

Hannibal can only watch so much from where he lays, mouth set to Will’s shoulder, murmuring words to him that Anthony cannot hear. He slips an arm around Will’s waist to hold him, his body shaking from the reverberations of Will’s own with every quickening stroke. Anthony’s breath catches and holds, entirely still and silent, struck asunder by the beauty of them both, and Will in particular spread dripping before him.

Will brings numb fingers to his face, spreading across his long tear-damp lashes, over his ruddy cheek and down to press against his lips and teeth. He bites his finger, arching from the pain that only serves to catalyze his pleasure. To Anthony’s eyes, Will is as a man possessed, transcendent, uplifted to an entirely other world as he relives in a rush everything that the two had done to him.

And when he jerks to sudden stillness, gasping once as ropes of white streak across his chest, he comes not with a bang but with a whimper. Anthony commits to memory in an instant the rapture held in that little sound, unfathomable densities collapsed into a single point of sound and light, into the event horizon of his own orgasm.

He could weep for it.

“Beautiful,” both men whisper at once, and Will’s sudden laughter breaks the spell.

He shifts off of Hannibal with a groan, a hiss of pain, and stretches face down on the bed, arching his hips for them both to see the mess between his thighs. When he lays lax a moment later, Will reaches out to tug a button from its hole on the shirt Hannibal still wears.

"You're overdressed," he mumbles,sighing contentedly when Hannibal, with a quiet grunt of acquiescence, starts to remove his clothing. Will reaches for Anthony with weak little grabs and wraps all his limbs around him when the poet kisses against Will's damp skin.

"Stay here," Will mumbles against him. "Both of you. I want to doze against my tormentors."

"Masochist," Hannibal tells him fondly, brushing a hand against Will’s cheek.

"Clinical," Anthony agrees, smiling wide and worshiping Will’s trembling body with kisses. "And I did promise you something."

"In the shower," Will sighs, sleepy and flushed and beautiful against him, turning with a little groan when Hannibal returns to bed having divested himself of his unnecessary clothes. "Later. When we wake."

“Rather defeats the point, I think.”

Will blinks, and his moment of pause is enough for Anthony to disentangle. Hannibal settles beside Will, hand in his hair, and watches with dark, curious interest as Anthony runs his palms over Will’s back. Bowing as if in worship, the poet draws his lips down each nub of Will’s spine, between the vertebrae, rising to the next, one by one. His hands spread before him, soothing trembling muscles, twitching weak from exertion. His breath pools hot against the small of Will’s back when with a grumble, Will’s hips raise despite himself.

The scent is heady, almost overwhelming. Will’s body spread and bared, used by both men whose semen slicks his hole. It is filthy, what Anthony is doing, it is depraved.

He grins anyway, and teases his tongue against one flushed cheek, and then the other.

Will shivers, still so overwhelmed by the fucking, by the attention and adoration that had gone into it despite it being such a cruel and claiming thing. He bites his lip when Anthony kisses the curve where his thighs meet his ass, turns hooded blue eyes to his husband.

It is anticipation and need, it is everything entirely, and when Anthony's fingers move to spread Will for him, the older man moans, helpless to it, aroused by the sheer animalistic need of it all, aroused by how utterly dirty this is. He lifts his hips higher.

When he feels Anthony lick against his hole, Will sobs, pressing his face to the pillow, lips parted and voice stolen. He is so sensitive, he is so sore, and even as Anthony laps against the mess between Will’s legs, Will feels his entire body come apart at the seams.

"Spread yourself wider," Hannibal whispers, watches in sleepy pleasure as his husband does as he’s told. "Arch your back."

Will does, gathering the sheets between his fingers and biting against them with a grin of delight, eyes almost glazed with ecstasy.

"You will make him space out doing that," Hannibal comments absently, smiling wide when Anthony pulls back, lips slick and eyes narrowed in mischief. He thumbs across his bottom lip, gathering their mingled release, and sucks it from the pad of his finger without a second thought.

“The least we can do is lull him into relaxation after all that.”

He is gentle when he spreads Will and ducks his head once more. Cupping his cheeks, he follows pearlescent trails with his tongue, licking from the slackened gathered skin of Will’s balls, up the smooth stretch between, and over his hole. He spreads beautifully for Anthony, effortlessly widening from the brutal stretch he gratefully endured. Across the poet’s parted lips and eager tongue drips a dollop, salty and warm, clean as if it were licked from Will’s stomach rather than where it has been. They are careful with these things, so that they can indulge without worry.

The thought that Anthony knows not whose release he relishes pulls a moan from him, curling his lips against Will’s opening, stroking with his tongue. Will stretches and all but purrs from the gentle attention, soothing sensation back into tingling skin, each sigh carrying his voice on it.

Hannibal watches. His beautiful poet indulging in both of them once more, always hungry for affection, touch, but never overbearing with it himself. He looks, now, as entirely euphoric as Will does, gently squirming in bed beside Hannibal. Will’s breathing picks up, his eyes barely open, and still he seeks to push back.

"Perhaps you will make him come again," Hannibal's voice whispers from his lips, rough as sandpaper. 

The words pull at Anthony, like fingers grasping between his ribs to snare him closer, a hard pressure on the cage of bone in his chest. A glimmer, bright, flashes through dark eyes as he rests his cheek against Will’s plush bottom and kisses absently little touches to it, watching only Hannibal.

“Would it please you if I did?”

Anthony ignores the stiffening between his own legs for now, though the pain sings like a bruise up through his belly to feel himself harden again so soon.

“It would please him,” Hannibal answers, fingers threading through Will’s hair. “And it would please me.”

Grinning lazily, Anthony nuzzles against the cleft of Will’s offered ass again, sucking a soft kiss just above his hole. The sordid sound of it, positively obscene, hoods Hannibal’s eyes. Anthony doesn’t need to ask for this - Hannibal knows how much the poet enjoys yielding to him, and him alone in this way. With Will, the poet shares vigorous or affectionate sex most times, occasionally taking the upper hand and bossing him about a little, but never the other way around. But for Hannibal, Anthony wants to give. He wants to bend and please and feel the full reserves of Hannibal’s strength, in words and character, in mind and body.

“Use your mouth, and nothing more, until he climaxes again.”

Anthony whimpers, brows rising, pressing together, before he lifts his eyes and slowly, deliberately, crosses his wrists behind his back. He watches Hannibal, watches to see his pleasure at Anthony's obedience. It is certainly there, warming his smile and arching his back as Hannibal adjusts on the bed.

Beneath his hand, Will is trembling, between lax and tense, between hot and cold. He is rarely overwhelmed by sex, but this is undoing him, sending his mind into the most pleasing tailspin as Anthony curls his tongue and moans against him. It is obscene and filthy, and the fact that Hannibal watches them both, like an emperor over gladiators tangled in battle, makes Will arch his back deeper, stretch his arms out in front of him.

Hannibal praises them both, soft words and soft tone, and turns to nuzzle against his husband.

"You will be exhausted after this," he tells him. "Finding your release twice, spread by both of us then cleaned by the man whose words and tongue and lips you adore so much. Spoiled, greedy boy."

Will’s helpless sigh scrapes across the pillow beneath, watching Hannibal without watching him, his gaze unfocused and distant, hardly there at all. There is pleasure even still, drawing up the corners of his eyes, his lips, crooked and strangely sweet considering the scenario. He lets his eyes close as Hannibal sets a hand to his cheek, and murmurs into his palm.

“I love you.”

Hannibal hums, his smile fond. He knows.

“Inside, please,” Hannibal purrs, and Anthony moans vibrations into Will that curl his hips higher, weak little thrusts pushing his half-hard cock against the air. Without his hands to hold Will apart, Anthony is smothered by him. Heat and wetness press across his mouth and nose, shortening his breath into little rasping pants.

And even still, his mouth acrid with the salt of their bodies, lips tingling with semen sweat, Anthony twists his tongue into Will’s open ass, and latching his lips around it, moans.

It becomes a game of patience, Anthony’s exceptional tongue and Will’s stubbornness. Little undulations to get Anthony deeper, low moans to shiver down Will’s spine, and Hannibal watching them both, enthralled and in love with the two men in his bed, in his life.

"Please touch me," Will whispers, eyes entirely glazed now, voice distant. He sobs, loud and wet, when Hannibal circles his cock with his fingers and tugs. "Fuck -"

"If you wish," Hannibal murmurs, turning his eyes to the poet. "You may touch yourself. But note that if you do, you will stroke until you reach release yourself."

Anthony can’t help but laugh, a dire and delighted sound. The sudden breath rocks a moan from Will, before Anthony licks up a lingering drop from his rim as if in consolation. Hannibal knew - he knew that Anthony wanted to just palm at himself a little, not seeking release but the sexual equivalent of scratching an itch. Only half-hard, he isn’t certain he could get entirely stiff again if he wanted to, and he has to consider whether the pain of no stimulation is greater than the pain of overstimulation.

His whole belly hurts with the thought of coming again so soon.

And Hannibal knew, long before Anthony did.

Hannibal always knows.

Just as he knows - and smiles - when Anthony drops his hands from behind his back, and rests one in his lap. He shivers a blissful agony in cupping his cock again, teasing the foreskin long, whimpering against Will’s opening, still hot against his lips. He kisses it, he kisses again, affectionate and soft as if he weren’t smeared nearly ear-to-ear with their semen and his own spit, as if he weren’t about to dig his tongue deep again and suck against the wrinkled skin.

He does, and Will’s moan curls like a fist in Anthony’s gut.

Hannibal watches, praises them both with soft sighed words and nuzzling. He moves to sit up, enough that he can keep stroking his husband's cock, already dripping between his fingers again, enough that he can stroke Anthony's hair, feel the poet turn into the gentle touch like a pet would. 

Hannibal skims his fingers down the poet’s back, as he had gently down Will’s, and rubs between his cheeks until Anthony moans, loud, surprised, and pulls back to breathe.

“I’m - I’m not sure I can,” Anthony pleads with a laugh, still working his cock in gentle pulls. The smears across his face are drying, sticky and stiff, but even without breath enough to truly rend Will apart with his mouth, he still touches kisses, fluttering little brushes of lips tender and sweet.

Sometimes, it’s not necessary to overwhelm someone with pressure and force.

Sometimes even the little things are what can split their seams apart.

Will bucks and groans, leaking semen past Hannibal’s fingers, no pulsing spray like the shots that striped his chest but a thin drip, pale white and mostly clear. Hannibal whispers to him that he is good, he is so good for finishing again, relenting in his strokes across Will’s sensitive cock when even fingertips touching make his husband flinch. He kisses Will’s temple, sweeps his hair back and kisses his brow, whispers secret words that Anthony can only imagine and never asks to hear.

They aren’t for him, and the laughing sob that finally gives Will voice again is satisfaction enough.

Only then does Hannibal turn a look back to Anthony, challenging and expect, and altogether fond. The poet drops to his hip as Will spreads flat onto the bed, and ducking his head, he tightens his stomach, clenches his teeth, and forces himself to finish with a cry.

Hannibal’s hand is soft against Anthony’s sweaty hair, peeling it from his forehead before he leans in to kiss him.

"Beautiful," he tells him, smiles when the poet laughs, exhausted, and kisses against the mess on his lips until Anthony brings his hands to hold the doctor down against him.

"Is your husband always so cruel?" he mumbles, reaching for Will, and the other just laughs, warm and sleepy, and laces his fingers with Anthony’s. 

"Always,” he sighs.

**Author's Note:**

>  **“gezelligheid”**  
>  — (noun) Known as one of the most difficult words to translate, this abstract Dutch noun is identified as a cozy, warm feeling,inspired by those you love at home or in a pleasant atmosphere you experience. Overall, known as the heart of Dutch culture gezelligheid is described as an intimate and relaxed sensation, which connotes a sense of belonging and happiness.


End file.
